An Epilogue With Teeth
by Jessie Bishop
Summary: The end is Just the beginning


A/N: Disclaimer - I do not own any of the character events, plot, etc of the Harry Potter book series. I am not Wicca, Buddhist or Taoist and know very little about it. No offense is intended. This story is not posted for any form of monetary gain. It is for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance character, events or locations to any actual people, place or events are purely coincidental as this story is a work of fiction based on the writings of J.K. Rowling. If anyone on this site finds and idea that they feel I may have borrowed from another writer, please inform me of it and I will credit that writer or writers for it. I have read a lot of fan fiction on many sites. It is only natural that something would bleed over.

And I don not own any rights to any of the materials written or otherwise found in or used in the movie "Boondock Saints"

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**An Epilogue with Teeth**

He sits on a throne build by blood, bone, and flesh given in the both war and peace. Battles lost and won in a war fought for true freedom for all of the world's peoples.

He reminisces about true friends lost. _Friends_ turned traitors. And about traitors who from the very beginning disguised themselves as friends.

He remembers his children murdered before they could even take their first steps by those he considered family.

He remembers his beautiful wife and how she died their captive, sacrificing herself to take as many of them to Hell with her in order to get revenge for their murdered daughters. Hermione….Lillith…..Sarah….

He remembers their faces as the gasped in terror when they came for justice for his 3 girls. The stick-waving monkeys were still spouting the empty rhetoric of a long dead and deranged fanatic who lived far too long after his usefulness ended some time around the end of the Second World War.

He looks at her - hair aflame…. skin- pale and flawless… radiating terrible power. She has become his right hand and 'sister' - his new Dark Lady. She who slaughtered her own blood kin to seek justice for her' true sister' and her god daughters. Ginerva….

He feels his mistress's call the mark at the base of his neck the symbol of his service in a language as old as creation itself.

He leans over and kisses his little 'sister' on the top of her head breathing in her scent, a remembrance in case he does not return to her.

He hugs and kisses his little 'nephew' good-bye for maybe the last time.

He steps out into the courtyard emerald green eyes set in determined resolve, his muscles tensed, and the sun glinting off the silver serpentine fastenings of his battle armor as he places his helm upon his head covering his head of silky snow white hair which ends just below his shoulders. With the grunt of pain they rip through his back, carefully guided by the rune that his Hermione placed in his back plate.

His little nephew, Mathew Granger-Willis Jr. claps enthusiastically. A beautiful boy, named after his squib father who died defending his cousin and god daughters when the Gingers lead the remnants of the old families in the abduction ten years ago.

His nephew loves to see this, but only because he is too young to understand what it means.

However, the great and terrible Dark Lord Slytherin (he chuckles at the title) does. They are the price. The bargain struck all those year ago by a half-dead four-year-old future mage and "child of fate" as he lay dying in the dark cupboard under the stairs. Her gift to him those many years ago are he tools of her avatar, her enforcer in the world of men. A symbol of a servant/warrior of The Creator. A blessing and obligation bestowed uon him, one befitting the adopted son of the Arch-angel/goddess Nemesis...

They are stretched now and ready for use. Their heaviness has faded to that familiar sense of completeness. He looks up to the source of the two great shadows passing over head and gives a resolved nod to his two comrades in arms. He draws his most cherished weapon.

His Jian forged of mythrill and the coldest, purest iron from the holy mountain fortress/temple of the Chinese 'god of war' Guan-Yu.

"Forged in the fires of my very soul shaped by my will…" his breath hitches as he spies the present his wife gave to him. Holy runes written in ancient 'Chinese' she was….. "She was…." His speech arrested as hot tears leak from his eyes. The tears that fall, deep and rich and as red as the blood in his very veins.

At that instant the sword alights with the flame of cleansing fire… "Time to work." All of his remembrances went away to be replaced by stony determination and focus.

A gust of wind and he is flying without a broom. One last look at his only remaining family and a brief heartfelt smile to his little sister who tries to retain her stoic resolve for the sake of both her brother and her young son.

Then he and the other two, the only three like them in this world are gone over the horizon in a matter of seconds.

_**"..and The Three shall spread their blackened wings and become the vengeful, striking Hammer of GOD..."**_


End file.
